down, riding them over, and surrounded the few of
us who were left.

In my confusion, as I strove to reach Simon, the hand of some fallen
wretch clutched me by the ankle, and I stumbled forward. In a trice I
was down, and seized; and struggling desperately, but in vain, was
dragged into safety, but a prisoner.

The mob driven off, though not defeated yet, came on again, refusing to
be balked of their prey; but disciplined strength was too much for
them, and once more they gave way, howling around the few prisoners,
whom they were only kept from tearing in pieces by the guards.

By the flare of the torches I saw Martines and Simon riding side by
side talking eagerly. Suddenly the latter reined in, sprang from his
horse, and lifted something in his arms. It was a woman's figure, limp
and lifeless. He placed her on the saddle before him, and mounted
again, whilst the mob hooted and jeered, and as the light fell on the
white face I saw it was Diane.

Martines leaned forward and looked at her, with pity in his glance; but
Simon laughed out:

"_Corbleu_, monsieur! this is the worst Christaudin of them all."

The words roused me to madness, and with a mighty effort I shook myself
free and sprang forward, but the butt of a lance brought me down, and
once more I was seized.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE RING

Late that evening Le Brusquet sat alone in his room in the Louvre, my
ring on the table before him. On leaving me that afternoon near the
Ladies' Terrace his first thought had been, according to his promise,
to return the letters we found to De Ganache; but he was not to be
seen. Le Brusquet had sought the tennis courts, haunted the apartments
of La Valentinois, and lounged about the lawns where the ladies and
gallants of the Court played at _grelot_ of an evening; but in vain.
Finally, he mounted his mule, and ambled off to the great square house
behind the Bourgogne, where Antony of Vendome lodged with his train.
Here he made certain he would find De Ganache, who followed the prince;
but he was once more disappointed. So, giving up the quest for the
present, he supped alone at Crabeau's, in the Rue des Fosses St.
Germain. Then he returned to the Louvre, and sat down to think, as
much of his own affairs as of mine. So far as he himself was concerned
he felt he had fallen from the favour of the King. This had happened
before; but now for the first time he seemed to have no wish to
re-establish himself, and